The Corpse Reader

18

Professor Ming resisted betting at first, but once he admitted a bit of curiosity, his students urged him on, and he agreed to the challenge. Xu skillfully upped the bets, making a show of worrying that he’d lose everything.

“If you mess this up,” warned Xu, “I swear I’ll sell your sister for less than the price of a pig.”

Cí wasn’t daunted. He asked the group to give him some space and took out instruments for his examination: a small hammer, forceps made from bamboo, a scalpel, a small sickle-like object, and a wooden spatula. Beside these he placed a washbasin, gourds containing water and vinegar, paper, and a brush.

Cí had some doubts about Gray Fox’s inspection, and Cí was ready to see if he was right.

He went first to the corpse’s nape, working his fingers from there up along the scalp to the crown of the head, and then inspecting the ears with the help of the little spatula. Then he went downward from the neck, examining the muscular shoulders, upper arms, elbows, and forearms, stopping at the right hand and paying particular attention to something at the base of the thumb.

A circular callus.

He made a note.

He checked the spine, the buttocks, and the legs for injuries before cleaning the face, neck, and torso—properly, with water and vinegar. He spent a good deal of time on the stab wounds, measuring and probing, and then concluding that at least three were fatal.

Just as I suspected.

Then the terrible throat wound: shaking his head, he measured it and made a note of the tears at the edges. Last came the face. Using the forceps inside the nose and mouth, he extracted a whitish substance. He made another note.

“We’re waiting,” warned the professor.

But Cí refused to be hurried. A hundred facts were swirling in his mind, and he still hadn’t quite come to the answer. He returned to the face, where, now that it was clean, he noticed some small scratches on the cheeks. He moved to the mark on the forehead, which he concluded couldn’t have been caused by an impact at all; the edges of the rectangular mark were too neat to be anything but an incision. The mud stuck in the flesh was a red herring, he decided.

Now he was getting somewhere.

He went back to the arms and hands, finding new scratches, then again to the head, parting the hair very carefully and inspecting the scalp. His suspicion confirmed, he turned to the professor. The game was won, and only he knew.

Gray Fox smiled. “So, sorcerer, anything to add?”

“Not really,” he said timidly, dropping his head and looking at his notes.

Laughter broke out among the students, who began clamoring for Xu to pay up. Xu looked nervously to Cí, who was still consulting his notes. Xu cursed and was about to begin paying on the bets, when Cí piped up.

“Not so fast.”

They will be the ones to pay once I am done.

“What are you saying?”

Gray Fox came up to him. “If you think you can mock us and get away with it…”

But Cí ignored him and looked to the professor for permission to present his conclusions. Ming nodded, seeming interested to hear what Cí had to say.

“Your student has carried out a superficial examination. Blinded by his ego, he ignored the value of what seemed to him banal facts. Just as a race over a thousand li can only be achieved one step at a time, examining a corpse requires patience and attention to the most minute details.”

Before his opponent could object, Cí continued. “The victim’s name was Fu Leng. Convicted of serious crimes, he was condemned to serve as a soldier at the Xiangyang outpost, on the River Han border, but he recently deserted. He came to Lin’an hoping to embark on a new life, but his violent personality was an obstacle. Yesterday afternoon, as so often, he fought with his wife and then beat her. Later, when he sat down to eat, she came up behind him and slit his throat. The unfortunate woman, should you be interested in speaking to her, will be found in her house, which is close to the walls where the body was found. Ask at the Yurchen shop near the north jetty. They’ll know where she lives—if she hasn’t killed herself already.”

Everyone was silent—even Xu, who just stared back when Cí told him to take their winnings. Gray Fox stepped forward and, out of nowhere, slapped Cí.

“I thought I’d heard it all, but this is unforgivable. You should be ashamed. Listen—”

“No, you listen. It isn’t my fault you’re inept. You even cleaned the body before checking for evidence.”

Astounded, Gray Fox looked to Professor Ming, who instructed him to keep calm and told the others that it wasn’t quite time to pay Xu.

“As I’ve said many times, having conviction is important in this line of work, but on its own it is never enough. That’s why we have tribunals rather than just taking the word of an accuser.” Ming turned to Cí. “Your words have a convincing edge, but you also show insolence, and above all, your assertions lack evidence. Without the evidence, the only conclusion can be that this is a flight of fancy. Either that, or you were actually present at the crime.”

Cí had known this presentation would be different from one to a group of mourners. The best investigators were trained at the Ming Academy, but if he explained his logic, they’d know he had medical training, which could give away his identity.

So he said that if they really needed proof, all they had to do was go to the scene of the crime. At this, Ming threatened to report him to the authorities.

Cí pressed his fists together and bowed. The risk was worth taking to prove he was right.

“Very well, we’ll begin with the cause of death. He didn’t die in a fight; there were neither several assailants nor numerous beatings. He died when his throat was slit, and the incision point and direction of the cut demonstrate that this happened from behind. Given that he was so tall, he must have been seated when he died. Otherwise, the killer wouldn’t have been able to cut down to up like this. The stab wounds on the torso were all delivered by the same weapon, from the same position, and with the same intensity—that is, by the same person. Three of them are mortal, which means that all the others, including the slit to the throat, were unnecessary. So we can discard the story of the attack squad.”

“Pah! Pure supposition,” said Gray Fox.

“You sure?”

Cí seized the wooden spatula as if it were a knife and rushed at Gray Fox. The student leaped backward, holding his arms up to parry the thrusts. Cí kept on coming, eventually cornering him. But as much as he tried to get at Gray Fox’s torso, he never managed to get past the raised arms.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d begun his attack, Cí stopped.

Gray Fox didn’t launch a counterattack, but looked around incredulously. No one had come to his aid, and Professor Ming had watched the whole thing impassively.

“Master!” squealed Gray Fox.

But the professor’s only response was to give the floor to Cí once more.

“As you can see, for all I tried, I couldn’t get past his defense. Now, picture the situation: If I’d had a knife, instead of this wooden spatula, your arms would have cuts all over them. If I had landed a blow on your body, the angles of the cuts, and how deep they went, would all have been very different.”

To this Gray Fox gave no answer.

“But,” said Professor Ming, “that hardly leads us to the idea that the killer was a woman, or his wife, or that he was an escaped convict—nor any of the rest of your conclusions, or fabrications, I should perhaps say.”

Cí went calmly over to the corpse, inviting the group to look closely at the wound on the forehead.

“The result of a fall? Wrong. If your classmate had carried out his examination properly, he would have seen that this section of skin, which he thought came away because of an impact, was in fact pulled off with the very same knife that slit the throat. Look at the edges of the wound.” Cí ran his gloved fingers along them. “He didn’t bother to clean the wound, so he missed that the edges of the wound are sharp and clearly defined. The precise rectangular shape of the wound can mean only one thing.”

“A demonic ritual?” asked Xu.

Please, Xu, not now.

“No,” said Cí, clearing his throat. “It was an attempt to remove something that would have identified the corpse, because it was something that would have identified the man, beyond doubt, as a dangerous criminal, convicted for the worst of crimes.” He paused, turning to Professor Ming. “It wasn’t any old piece of skin that was removed; it was where the tattoo they put on murderers was placed. Fortunately, in this case, the killer either forgot or didn’t know that murderers are also tattooed on the crown of the head.”

From their expressions, Cí could see the students’ attitudes were rapidly changing from disdain to astonishment.

“And the idea that he deserted Xiangyang?”

“It’s well known that our penal code sets out execution, exile, and enforced labor as punishments for murder. This corpse was alive only yesterday, which leaves exile or enforced labor.” He held up the corpse’s right hand. “And the circular callus at the base of the thumb proves, without a doubt, that this man was wearing the bronze ring with which the flexor tendon is tightened.”

“Let me see,” said the professor, coming closer.

“It is also well known that our army forces are concentrated in Xiangyang because of the incursions by the Jin invaders.”

“And that’s why you think he deserted.”

“Basically. In a state of war, no one is allowed to leave the army, but this man did so to return to Lin’an. And not long ago, either, judging by his tan.”

“His tan?” asked Ming.

“Look at this faint horizontal mark,” said Cí, indicating a line across the forehead. “There is a very slight difference between the color of the skin here, compared to a little higher.”

The professor checked this.

“A head scarf,” continued Cí. “In the rice fields, the workers call them two-tones. But here there is only a very slight difference in coloration, indicating he only recently began using the head scarf to hide his tattoo.”

The professor frowned, seeming to weigh his next question.

“And the whereabouts of the woman? What were you saying about asking at the Yurchen shop?”

“Oh, I was lucky there. There was so much leftover food matter in his mouth that I could only deduce he died while eating.”

“But—”

“The Yurchen shop, yes. Look.” He picked up the gourd in which he’d deposited the leftovers. “Cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“Surprising, yes? A very unusual thing to eat around here, but common among the northern tribes. As far as I know, the only place bringing cheese into Lin’an is Old Panyu’s exotic food shop. I’m certain they’d remember the few customers who had recently bought such disgusting fare!”

“Which he perhaps developed a taste for during his time in the army…”

“Perhaps. They have to eat whatever they can find.”

“But you still haven’t explained the key element—that his wife killed him.”

Cí consulted his notes. Nodding, he lifted one of the corpse’s arms.

“These,” he said, pointing to some faint scratches. “The same as on both his shoulders. They showed up when I washed the body with the vinegar.”

“And these lead you to conclude…”

“That she’d been beaten badly earlier in the day and tried to fight back. She couldn’t take the abuse anymore, so when he sat down to eat, she came up behind him and slit his throat. And when he was down, she went into a rage, straddled him, and stabbed him in the torso. When she calmed down, she removed anything that might identify the body or link it to her. But because he’s such a big man, she wouldn’t have been able to carry him very far. Therefore the killer is still in the vicinity of where the body was found.”

“Truly fantastic,” said Ming.

Cí bowed in thanks.

“No, I mean fantastic as in you’ve created a huge fantasy based on scant findings. Anyone could find any number of holes in your argument—for example, why the wife and not a sister? If the skin from the forehead is gone, there’s no way of being certain it had a tattoo on it, let alone what it said.”

“But—”

“Enough. You’re smart, no question about it, but you’re not as brilliant as you think.”

“And…the bet?” said Xu.

“Mmm.” The professor took out a purse and handed it to Xu. “That should settle it.”

The professor signaled to his students it was time to go. As they filed out, he motioned for Cí to follow him. Leaving the students, Ming led Cí over to a hedged garden. Cí’s heart raced as he waited for the professor to say something.

“How old are you, boy?”

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“And where did you learn your skills?”

“Learn? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on,” said the professor. “I can tell where your knowledge is from.”

Cí pursed his lips.

“As you wish,” said Ming. “If you don’t want to take part, that’s a real shame. In spite of your temerity, I’m impressed.”

“Take part? What do you mean?”

“One of our students fell ill last week and had to go back to his province. There’s a spot at the academy, and in spite of the long waiting list, we’re always on the lookout for anyone with real talent.” He paused. “But I see it isn’t for you.”

Cí could hardly believe it. The Ming Academy was the gateway for anyone who wanted to be anyone in the judiciary, an entry point into the elite—it even meant avoiding the Imperial exams, and the promise of regaining his family honor. It was beyond his wildest dreams.

But this offer was like the honey on a spoon before the bitter medicine; he could never afford the fees.

As if he’d read Cí’s thoughts, Professor Ming said they might be able to offer him accommodation, and that there was a job in the library with wages that would cover his tuition. Cí pinched himself. He’d be able to learn all the new techniques and cutting-edge developments. It was a chance to earn his rightful place. Finally his life would be what he wanted.

But what about Third?

The professor was shocked when Cí rejected the offer.